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This year, we have the kind of vegetable garden that I have wanted forever but never really believed that I would have. It's in daughter-and-dad-built raised cedar beds, and it's home to daughter-and-mama planted lettuce and turnips and cabbage and squash and strawberries (and onions that didn't make it).

It's not that I didn't think we *could* do it. My childhood weekends at our family farm taught me enough to make a go at it. I just didn't think we ever *would* do it. Growing things takes time. Consistent time.

Then somehow, this year, my husband made an impulsive weekend project out of building those garden boxes. I couldn't just let those sit there. And now our backyard is home to the lovely, delicious plants you see there.

But that's not the photo I'm actually most interested in showing you. I also want to show you this.

That's our front yard. We haven't mowed it one single time since spring sprung. The backyard where our daughter and her friends play has suffered a similar fate. That stuff is almost as tall as she is. I am not exaggerating.

We cannot always add more more more--at home, at work, in our creative lives.